


First, Do No Harm

by EmilliaGryphon



Series: Groot Steve Rocket Bucky: Scenes From a Life [4]
Category: Avengers, Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), MCU, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crisis, Facing Your Demons, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Platonic Love, Sugery, Torture, Wounds, platonic intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-28 21:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16249844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilliaGryphon/pseuds/EmilliaGryphon
Summary: Steve tells Bucky he is not like those Hydra doctors who tortured him. Bucky does his best to keep the demons at bay. But when Rocket's life is in danger, Bucky must listen to the voices in his head...and obey their demands.*Content Warnings: discussions of torture, animal abuse, graphic descriptions of violence, and ptsd.*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This flash fic is based off an actual dream I had. As soon as I woke up I told SkarabraeStone and began debating if I should write it out as a fic. That debate lasted less than two hours. Some gaps had to be filled in but most of it is exactly how it appeared in my unsuspecting subconscious, including the dialogue. I still left some things in ambiguity (ignore the fact that they found a fully functioning yet abandoned hydra lab) because well, it’s based on a dream.  
> Note to self: I REALLY need to stop drinking that herbal tea before bed… 
> 
> Written by EmilliaGryphon, Edited by SkarabraeStone

_ Cold _

_ Restraints  _

_ Can’t. Breathe.  _

Bucky bit his tongue, the gag in his mouth threatening to make him heave. Not like that would do much good. He’d only end up spilling the contents of his stomach all over himself. His sides still throbbing from where the Hydra agent ran that sharp electric staff through his ribs.  _ This couldn’t be happening, no. I got away...Steve, he got me free. We--- _

“We are sorry to interrupt your little life,” the doctor before him sneered. “But you were so, malleable. We needed to observe your programming.”

Bucky tried to struggle against the chilling restraints that wrapped around his shoulders and secured his torso. Arms locked to his sides. 

The pale man’s voice spoke with a succulent satisfaction gleaming behind thick rimmed glasses. “You were quite the protagonist, very entertaining.” 

“Oh good,” Bucky grated through his gag, “wouldn’t want to bore you.” 

The doctor’s lips twitched, leaning forward. Chemicals flooded Bucky’s nose,  _ tables, tinctures, pincers, knives, bright lights.  _

“Your time playing house is over, soldat.” He smiled, yellow teeth gleaming in the flickering fluorescent light. 

Bucky stared at him, trying to calm his panicking mind.  He flung himself against the restraints with what little mobility he could, a burning sensation pricking his body. He shifted his remaining arm at the heat, the arm that hadn’t been lost in the failed struggle to get away. Bucky tensed his fist, throwing his weight against the metal contraption and sucked in a breath as he fell forward, wincing with the impact of the floor. 

The doctor stumbled back and Bucky looked up just in time to see a rain of gunfire explode from above. He twisted, scrambling to get up, watching as Rocket fired his gun, perched on top of the restraint chair, it’s metal bars now smoking at the edges. Bucky got to his feet, shaking with nausea.  _ Fight!  _ His mind screamed over the raccoonoid’s weaponry. He made to charge forward at the agents but halted, exhaustion seeped in his bones.  _ No! Promised Steve….promised Steve, no more fighting.  _

“Barnes, I’m out of ammo, let’s go!” 

Bucky didn’t miss the tremor in Rocket’s voice and whipped around to see the hydra doctor running forward, scalpel in hand.  _ Threat identified, priority disarm, kill.  _ Bucky’s mind instantaneously ready to spring. He sucked in a breath, hissing through the stabbing in his side, limbs heavy.  _ Don’t fight, not like that. Not anymore. Once I start, I won’t stop.  _ He’d learned that the hard way. Too many times having seen the look in Steve’s wide blue eyes after a euphoric spout of unintended violence.  _ Never again.  _

A hissing screech tore through his ears and Bucky pivoted to see Rocket leap from his prefered perching position on the restraining chair, to land on the hydra agent’s head. Gun fire cracked in Bucky’s ears as more armed guards rushed in, firing.  _ Metal table, shield.  _ This time his previous conditioning was productive, Bucky nodded in agreement to himself,  _ just like Steve,  _ he reminded himself, picturing his boyfriend using his shield expertly for offense or defence. Bucky scrambled low to pick up the overturned table and swung it towards the guards, standing between the bullets and where Rocket clawed madly at the hydra agent’s face. Bullet’s riqueshed off the metal, Bucky holding it fast against the pressure.

Something hit his back and he twisted to catch himself, the bullets stopped. Bucky’s stomach dropped, head spinning even as the guards grabbed him. Lead filled his limbs, vision swimming.  _ Hissing, chattering. Footsteps. Snarling.  _ He twisted over his shoulder as four more guards came clambering in, two of them taking up their stations on either side of him. He swayed where he stood, colors blurring together. 

“Get it on, get it on! Watch for the teeth!” Voices snarled.

“Barnes!” Rocket barked.

Bucky shook his head, trying to dispel the fevered dizziness from his wretched mind. 

The raccoonoid twisted his neck with such force Bucky worried it would snap clean off. The doctor held the small animal by the scruff of his fur, dangling, vulnerable. Bucky had learned quickly that despite his size, Rocket was a forced to be reckoned with; his endless supply of firearms and bombs alone were enough to make a foe of any size cower. Let alone the animal’s genius abilities to improvise lethal machines with the scarcest of resources on a moment’s notice. Yet stripped of all weaponry and nothing to improvise with, Rocket was still a 4 foot tall, 20 pound creature. Rocket snapped his teeth as gloved hands attempted to lift a muzzle to his jaws. For all his scrappiness, Bucky knew what Rocket knew: it was over. 

“B..Barnes what the ..f..flark are you waiting for?! Get your ass outta here!” 

He could have laughed,  _ all this time living with Steve has really rubbed off on him.  _ Bucky attempted to muscle forward, held fast by the hydra agents. 

“S...stop!” He coughed, watching as Rocket’s mouth began to foam, tail thrashing madly as the scientist let him dangle.  _ Helpless, hopeless, loathing.  _ Feelings Bucky  knew all too well rose up like black waves inside of him. Consuming and drowning. “Stop...it!” He winced as the guards yanked him back. “Rocket!” The raccoonoid’s ears now pinned back to his skull, claws ferociously swiping at the muzzle the agents forced around his head. 

“Barnes,” foam flew from the raccoonoid’s jaws. “GET OU..ARRRGGHHMMM” 

Bucky’s insides twisted, watching them secure the cruel contraption over Rocket’s head, clamping his jaws shut though he continued to fume. 

“Let him go,” Bucky whispered, all fight gone from him. “Please, let him go.”

The doctor turned, grinning. “I can’t let it go Soldat,” he said. “We need the parts.”

_ Parts?  _ Bucky’s mind raced to try and comprehend but his consciousness drifted sluggishly. The scientist turned, one of the guards plucked some odd claw device from the table and fitted it to the doctors free hand. “The hardware is old, but some of it can be salvaged, no doubt.” 

Bucky shifted arduously, hitching a breath as a balled fist gutted his middle. He pitched forward, gasping only to be hauled to his knees. Bucky squinted through his bruised face across the grey concrete room where the scientist held Rocket.  _ What….what is he…. _

Bucky startled as the man plunged the three pronged claw into the raccoonoid’s bristling back. Razor sharp blades punctured the flesh on either side of Rocket’s upper spine and yanked. Rocket’s eyes went wide, an agonizing animalistic shriek making the man’s skin prickle. The raccoonoid arched back, then buckled. Thick blood spattered the floor, nausea hit Bucky again jerking at the snapping of bones. The claw retracted, gripping something imbedded in raw flesh. Rocket’s body spasmed, eyes larger than Bucky had ever seen them. The doctor frowned, ceasing his motion and pulled again, met with resistance. Thin veins and tissue stuck taunt like the strings of a puppet from the raccoonoid’s open back.

Bucky swallowed, any hope he had of containing the contents of his stomach lost as he doubled over, vomiting at the sight. 

“I forgot how deep these were inserted.” He was mildly aware of the doctor’s observation. 

He coughed, heaving at the sight of the device pulling free. The odd claw twisted, provoking another spasm from Rocket. A dreadful gurgle came from the raccoonoid as blood now seeped from clamped jaws, dripping from the muzzle.

“One more try,” the doctor hissed and yanked mercilessly. With a final series of snaps and crunches the device came free. Arms around Bucky tightened as he was pulled to his feet. A thick metal panel clutched in the hand of the doctor, attached to it were four tangled, bloody wires with bolts attached to each end. Rocket’s head lolled, eyes rolling backward. 

“No,” Bucky wheezed. 

The doctor set down the cybernetics, flipping Rocket over unceremoniously and pulled at the two remaining implants just below the raccoonoid’s collarbones. Bucky held his breath, waiting for Rocket to squirm or cry out, but the creature only lay immobile. A sickening crack indicated a broken clavicle and the two pieces were ripped out with what appeared to be less effort.  

The doctor smiled. “There, that’s better.” He dropped Rocket, who landed with a thud, limbs and tail flailing. 

Bucky stared at the growing pool of blood seeping from the creature. Stirring his own fury.  _ Swore I wouldn’t fight.  _ Bucky trembled as the doctor stomped over to him, still holding Rocket’s implants.  _ Breathe, just breathe,  _ he reprimanded himself in Steve’s own voice. Firm fingers gripped Bucky’s chin, twisting him to stare into those malicious eyes. 

“Steve,” Bucky whimpered, longing for home.  _ What would Steve do...Steve... _ that name was a prayer and that prayer ignited his heart. Bucky peered over the man’s shoulder to where Rocket lay. Bucky met the eyes of the doctor.

“We have you now soldat, and this time we will not let you get away. You will be the perfect, obedient…”  

Bucky grabbed at his throat, his fingers wrapping easily around the flabby flesh and squeezing. The guards moved to shock him but he spun,  _ disable, disarm, destroy.  _ He kicked outward, grunted and grabbed the electric staff, swinging madly. Blue lightning fizzed and bubbled, reckless adrenaline fueled him, spiking at the sound the first agent made as he fell to the ground clutching his stomach. Bucky thrust the staff downward, into the man’s face.  _ Behind,  _ his senses screamed, the man leaned down grabbed the guards gun, spun and shot bullet echoing. The guard behind him fell.  _ Two down, four more to go.  _

With conditioned effectiveness, Bucky charged the fourth agent, who was fumbling with his gun. 

“St...stand down!” His monotone order went through one ear and out the other as Bucky seized  his wrist, snapping it and thrusting his head forward, hitting the man’s skull with his own. 

The man’s head drooped; Bucky shot him in the chin. He grasped the heavy weight before the man collapsed and turned him around, shielding himself from the fire of the remaining guards with the body of this one. A tried and true motion. _ Shameful, no. Necessary.  _ Bucky rushed upon them, pushing the two guards against the concrete wall. 

They swung, something sharp rattled his arm, and Bucky momentarily blinked away the white pain. 

“Fuck!” he thought, hitting the ground only to roll, kicking up at the guard who made a grab for the staff. 

Bucky’s own instincts were quicker; years of being a super soldier would do that to a person, he supposed with grim amusement. The prod ran through the man’s chest. Bucky pulled himself upward, letting four more rounds fire on the second guard. The man let out a shocked noise of pain, but died before he hit the ground. Bucky’s entire body trembled, facing the last guard. He smiled. His heart screamed at what he was doing; his mind, however, reveled in it. 

“I...I have your arm!” The soldier held the appendage, shaking. 

Bucky let down the electric staff, stomping over to the sweating man and wrenched the limb from the man’s weak hold. It slid rather neatly into the socket, and he smirked with satisfaction. 

“Thanks,” he muttered, flexing the limb. 

Before the guard could reach for his weapon Bucky slammed his metal fist into the man’s throat. He coughed, taking a tentative step backward.  _ Now!  _ Bucky reached out again, this time with both hands and quickly snapped the man’s neck. The same blood curdling crack as Rocket’s bones. The guard crumbled and Bucky turned.  _ The patient will see you now, doctor.  _

Bucky approached the cowering man, who cowered in the corner. “The parts, where are they?”

Bucky crouched to the man’s level, holding the gun to the pulsing veins of the man’s forehead.

The doctor shook his head, teeth biting his own lip so it drew blood. Ammonia and fear wafted off of his pathetic form, burgeoning Bucky’s violent euphoria. 

“Fine,” he growled. Crossing over to Rocket, Bucky stooped, gently removing the creatures muzzle and crossed over to the doctor once more. “Where.Are.The.Parts?” 

“Soldat…” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, grabbing the man’s head in his hands, easily thwarting the flailing limbs and weak kicked as he buckled the straps around his head. The man garbled, blood flecking his lips and tongue as he moaned. 

“The parts?” Bucky ordered, still holding the man fast. 

The doctor cringed, gagging, body heaving.  

_ The device.  _ Bucky picked it up from the floor, fixing the claw to his own metal arm. 

“You may think what you’ve done to me is a miracle. You thought you created the perfect weapon for your games,” he hissed, “but you were wrong.” He crossed behind the doctor, yanking him upward to his feet. “I was never, and will never be one of you.” 

With that, Bucky drove the claw into the man’s back. He let loose a savage sound as the razors sliced through flesh and tissue. With a few swift pulls Bucky fell back, the bone releasing. Blood whipped across him, metalic in his mouth. It sent his heart hammering with need,  _ kill.  _ Bucky yanked a final time and the doctor deflated, Bucky dropped him. The noise shattered the frenzy.  _ W...what….Steve…? Where...what have I done?  _ He let go of the clump of bone and flesh and cloth he held balled in his fists and stepped over the doctor’s form, taking the muzzle off. 

“N….no..s...solda...soldat,” the doctor rasped, “you…..a….are...one...one of ...us…” 

Bucky’s breath hitched, watching the smile curl on the man’s lips, the moment the life left his eyes. Bucky stood, surveying the area.  _ Dead guards….blood...weapons...the doctor...I...I did this..?  _ His stomach rolled, and he felt his knees give out from under him.  _ Steve!  _ Bucky looked up, trying to determine any evidence of his soulmate’s presence, though he realized with a flood of relief, there was none.  _ You didn’t hurt him.  _

Shaking, Bucky got to his feet.  _ The door’s wide open? Get out!  _ He made his way toward the exit and stopped, foot catching on something. It moaned. 

“Rocket!” Bucky cried, the memories coming back as he woke from his red-stained fog. Bucky knelt once more to the hard stone floor. 

Rocket lay still, sides barely moving. His eyes pinched closed. “I said I was...g…” Blood bubbled from Rocket’s mouth, staining his teeth. He swallowed painfully. “Get your arm. D….didn’t really mean…...it like..t...this.”

Bucky slid his hand under Rocket’s head gently, trying to scoop him up. “Hey, I gave you the arm remember?” Rocket tried to muster a laugh. It came out a rattle and his head went heavy in Bucky’s hold.

“...I’m gonna get you out of here,” Bucky breathed, precariously lifting the raccoonoid off the floor. Rocket hissed in pain, buckling and slumped back down. “Hang on,” he whispered. “Just hang on.”

“If you’d just,” Rocket  gagged, “r...run they would’ve...k...k...killed me quicker.” 

Tumultuous guilt sunk in the man’s heart.  _ He’s right.  _ Clear wetness pricked at the edges of Bucky’s eyes, first one then the other.  Bucky settled Rocket into the crook of his arm, stepping carefully. The raccoonoid stiffened, letting out a choking strangled breath. 

“Rocket just, just hold on.” Bucky pleaded, biting his lip. 

Rocket shuddered, eyes rolling back, going still. Bucky’s stomach dropped, running over to the blood stained counter.  _ Stitches, scissors.  _ He rummaged for them through the drawers and began to sew Rocket’s back. Being in the army, even as far back as WWII, had made his impromptu surgical skills hard to forget.  

“Rocket, shhh, it’s okay. I’m going to get you out of here, just….” He bit off the extra string and looked down at his crude job.  _ Better this then nothing.  _ “Raccoon, I swear if you die on me!” 

A sudden inflate of the raccoonoid’s chest made Bucky grin.  _ Nice to know that tactic works,  _ he mused. It wasn’t much but it was a response. He tucked Rocket in his arms once more and, lifting a spare gun off one of the guards, Bucky ran through the tunnels, gun first, guilt later. 

At last fresh air filled Bucky’s lungs with hope, stumbling out into the forest. “STEVE!” He ran, as far away from the base as he could. “Steve!”

“BUCK!” 

Bucky’s tears returned again as Steve emerged from the trees, skin ashen, eyes wide. Bucky flung himself into the other man’s arms, breathing in that scent of sweat and good intentions.  _ Steve, I’m so sorry….Steve.  _ Steve’s hands gripped Bucky’s shoulder’s tightly.  _ It was a nightmare...it was just a nightmare.  _

“Bucky, shhh. It’s alright. I’m here, you’re alright.” 

“No, no,” Bucky found his voice for the first time since the ordeal. “Hydra...they...they captured us...they let you rescue me, Steve!” He breathed, slowly retracting his embrace. “They just watched the whole time….for...r..research! They…”

Large footsteps made both men break away as Groot came barreling towards them. “I am Groot!” 

Bucky revealed Rocket from his protective hold, offering the raccoonoid to him as though he were a peace treaty. 

Groot faltered before him, glanced down at Rocket and ever so tenderly took the raccoonoid in his arms. “I am Groot,” he cooed, having eyes only for the small creature. “I am…” 

Bucky gasped as brittle wood wrapped around his body, lifted him up off the ground, and slammed him against a tree.

“Groot!” Steve protested, horrified. 

“I AM GROOT!”

Bucky clawed for breath, staring into those large eyes. For as long as he’d known the tree-like giant, Groot had been nothing but sweet, patient, and doting. What Groot lacked in understandable words he made up for in hugs and flower crowns. So many flower crowns. Bucky had never seen the flora ever provoked to anger, not even at Rocket’s drunken debauchery, not even at his own slow learning when it came to ASL--a method Steve recommended they utilize to communicate with Groot in Rocket’s absence.  _ But this-- _ Bucky tried to gather air, even as tight branches constricted against him. He kicked feebly. He’d never seen such savagery from Groot. He didn’t think it possible. 

“I am Groot?!” Groot roared, Bucky’s hair ruffling with the force of it. 

“No, he’s not dead!” Steve guessed, looking to Bucky for confirmation. 

“I am Groot!”  _ You….you let this happen!?  _

_ Disappointment.  _ Bucky needed no translation for it. He forced himself to relax, even as thorns began to grow from Groot’s branches and upon the flora’s shoulders. 

“I am Groot?”  _ How could you?  _

“Groot, listen to me,” Steve begged. “Let Bucky go. I know you're scared, but this won’t help Rocket.” Groot paid no mind, his sap stained eyes boring into Bucky.  __

_ He trusted me,  _ the man realized; the flora’s hold on him did not lighten but he set Bucky’s feet down to the earth again.  _ Trusted me to take care of Rocket.  _ Bucky’s gaze shifted to Steve,  _ if it’d been reversed...if I’d entrusted Groot to go with Steve… _

“Groot, I’m sorry,” he swallowed. “I...I failed you.” He looked where Rocket lay and felt his heart twist. “I failed both of you.”  _ Failed Steve.  _

Groot’s eyes did not waver for a moment. Hard and cold, unnerving from a creature usually so warm. “I am Groot,”  _ What will you do about it?  _ Thorns pricked Bucky’s sides and stomach, stinging. 

“Groot!” Steve beseeched, “Let. Him. Go!” 

Bucky looked to Rocket once more. An image of himself freshly captured by Hydra. Groot stared at him unblinking, as if into Bucky’s tattered soul, but slowly unwound his vines, taking his arm back to hold Rocket closely to his chest. He leaned down, nuzzling his head against the dull-looking fur.

“Buck.” Steve turned to him. “We have to do something.” 

Bucky nodded, turning to Groot, solemn. 

The affection dropping from the flora’s eyes once more replaced by murderous intent born from love and _ ….betrayal _ . 

“I have an idea,” Bucky admitted, “but none of you are going to like it….” He looked down at his quivering, bloody hands.  _ Me least of all. _


	2. Chapter 2

“Will this work?” Steve’s skeptical gaze landed on the leaking pipe overhead. 

“We don’t have much of a choice,” Bucky commented, scanning the abandoned lab. _ That gurney,  _ his breath caught beholding the human-sized contraption he had been locked into. He winced, focusing on Rocket. Somehow the sight of his mutilated little friend was, in some repulsive way, not as terrible as that fucking gurney. Though he hated to admit it to himself. 

He rummaged through the grey cabinets and examined the tools scattered about the counter.  _ It’ll do.  _ “Steve?” 

Bucky looked up at the blonde-haired man wheeling the gurney out of the room roughly. He tossed his love an understanding look, and Bucky nodded, thankful. 

“So,” Steve planted his hands on his hips and addressed them in a way Bucky could have laughed at for all its natural expertise. “He’s stable for now, relatively.” Bucky could almost see the gears turning in his mind. “Our main prerogative is to...” 

“I have to do to him, what they did to me.” Bucky looked down at where Rocket lay in Groot’s defensive hold, the uneven movements of his side the only indication of life. 

Steve’s hand touched his arm. Bucky twinged.  _  After all this time? Why do I still flinch?  _ Potent self-loathing coursed through him but he stifled it, instead meeting Steve with a grim face. “They tore out his main control unit,” he explained. “If his cybernetics are anything like mine, it’s not going to be pretty. But it can be done.” 

Steve nodded, one finger subtly stroking his shoulder. “Tell me what you need.” 

This time a real smile came from Bucky, for the first time since their capture.  _ The ever helpful Steve Rogers, always wanting to be of service.  _

True to his nature, Steve gathered all manner of equipment needed, arranging it beside on the steel table. 

“That should be good enough,” Bucky inspected the scalpels,  _ slicing pain, skin opening, blood, no. Don’t think of that. Cutting, ripping, pulling, gutting, no!  _ He tightened his grip on the lithe blade and set it down, tearing his gaze from the array of brutal instruments. 

“I found this,” Steve commented. Bucky turned to where the man wheeled in a smaller gurney, this one outfitted with four metal clamps and an extra one besides...  _ For a tail,  _ Bucky realized, and gestured for Steve to bring it closer.  _ I’m putting him in this….trapping him. The way they trapped me… “you are one of us soldat.”  _ He gulped, steeling himself, and scrounged what little assurance he could muster.

“Groot,” he breathed, “I need to take Rocket.” 

The flora colossus scowled and stepped back, shaking his head. 

“Groot,” Steve placed a delicate hand on the brittle wood. “You need to let Bucky see, he’s going to help him.” 

The flora looked to him, bewildered. 

“ You can hold onto him, and he'll die in your arms. Or, you can release him to ours and he might live. Your call. ” Bucky clenched his teeth against his impatience. Despite his limited vocabulary, the flora colossus was not dumb. 

Groot only glared, but Bucky pressed on. “I seem to remember that sort of thing already happened to you, hasn’t it? I doubt you’d want to go through something like that again.”

“I am Groot,” the flora spat, searing eyes boring into him. He signed severely. 

“He says…” Steve began, “He says that you have suffered enough to know there are things worse than death.” 

Bucky glanced at the knives on the table, taunting him in their reflecting light. “Your call, but you better make it fast.” 

Groot looked at Bucky, helpless rage threatening to shatter his bark. He looked down at Rocket for a moment, and Steve wordlessly patted his arm. Groot leaned down, tentatively touching his brow to that of the raccoonoid. Finally he relinquished his hold, and Bucky reached out, transferring the wounded creature with surprising grace.

“Thank you,” Bucky whispered, turning to place Rocket in the gurney. Several stitches on his back had already torn; dark dried blood crusted around those that remained intact. With the tightening of each strap and check of anaesthesia Bucky repressed images of pinched skin, of constricting pain, and mounting fear. 

“I am Groot!” Groot made to shove Bucky aside but halted, Steve’s large arms hooking around him, pulling him back. 

“Trust me Groot you do not want to see this,” Steve urged straining with all his might to drag the large flora out through the double doors. 

Bucky glanced at him, those eyes he knew so well.  _  I’ll be alright,  _ Bucky tried to convey.  _  I’ll be alright. Trust me.  _

His soulmate did not answer but nodded in affirmation and led Groot out, double doors swinging behind them. 

_ Good.  _ Relief temporarily lightened him as the footsteps faded down the hall.  _ Steve should not see this either.  _ Bucky plucked the scalpel from the table once more, holding it above Rocket’s torn back. He poised it with accuracy, the faces of the scientists behind his eyes.  _  Don’t want him to see...how easy it is… _ Bucky bit his tongue, lowering the little instrument and setting it against the mess of flesh and stitches and fur. 

“Forgive me,” he placated aloud, to Rocket? To Groot? To Steve? Whose forgiveness was he seeking?  _ Doesn’t matter, I don’t deserve any of it no matter who it comes from.  _ He let himself exhale as he drew the scalpel down opening Rocket’s back once more.  _  Looks remarkably like my own,  _ he recalled the first time he’d been opened.  _ A canvas,  _ that’s what the hydra agents called his body,  _ a perfect blueprint for weapons capacity. _

Buck set down the scalpel and looked, trying to recall those procedures he’d worked so hard to repress.  _ If his cybernetics are anything like mine, then all of it is connected through the spine,  _ he squinted in the flickering light at the thousands of tiny vien like silver wires. 

_ “Soldat’s spine must be reinforced to support weight of artificial limb,”  _ the grating voices in his head spoke. Bucky closed his eyes, leaning back against the counter.  _ “You are one of us soldat.”  _

_ No….no. I am not!  _ He forced his eyes open once more, holding his breath as he squinted down at Rocket again.  _ That was one arm,  _ he thought. But Rocket was a raccoon turned weapon, made bipedal through multiple surgeries and changes to his skeletal structure.  _ All four limbs would have had to be reinforced,  _ Bucky’s reason spoke to him in the language of the hydra scientist. With two prongs he gently lifted the pink viscus muscle tissue.  _ Tiny wires,  _ he assumed of the razor thin silver fibers that wound through the soft tissue.  _ They must have all been supported and gather together by that main control unit. Like the fuse box of a building.  _ Bucky pried gently, startling backward, dropping the prongs as Rocket’s left foot kicked. 

“Rocket?” He held his breath glancing with dreaded apprehension at the raccoonoid’s sides. Finally, they moved. Bucky picked up the tool slowly.

_ “You must be careful there,” the doctor’s words echoed, “the spinal cord is of the most complex components to the human body.” Excruciating pain, screaming at the peeling of flesh, the dribble of blood. cold metal. “A single prick could compromise the entire operation and we need him functional.”  _

Bucky tried again, looking down at the open back, what was fat and muscle and bone and hardware amalgamation of parts.  _ They didn’t need a large panel with my enhancements,  _ Bucky recalled glancing at the note pads he could see from the table where they tortured him. After the procedures became routine and mind and body learned to deal with the initial shock of them, he could sometimes, on a good day, retain consciousness long enough to make out their handwriting. Desperately trying to figure out what and why they were using him.  _ Faces leering, smiling, fingers and pincers poking at his flesh, jabbing into who knows what. A twitch of the face there, a tweak of his natural arm there, laughter as they stuck him with their tools. _ Bucky grimaced against it, willing himself back to the task at hand.

_ If they could connect the metal and hardware directly to each other, or to his spine, there would be no need for an extra plating.  _ He loomed close, the bright light illuminating Rocket’s insides. Hues of pinks, reds, a sack of something pink and quivering,  _  a kidney? _ He held the pincers tight, two in each hand trying to connect a small wire frayed on one end to another,  _ please let this work,  _ he prayed to a god he had stopped believing in long ago. With scrupulous care, Bucky connected the wires, watching Rocket’s ears or limbs or tail for any reaction. Once again, nothing.

“That’s it,” he whispered, looking for the next series of wires he could connect. Each tiny thread disappeared into his body, though Bucky tried to trace each one as far as he could. “I’m going to try and repair these.” 

He found another set of wires, each of these coming from the raccoonoid’s left leg. “ _ Stop it! What are you doing?”  _ he would scream, but their vacant eyes never looked at him, never considered or spoke to him. It was only after the surgeries, when the psychological tests began that they addressed him.

“I’m not going to treat you like that,” he whispered. _ You already are, by doing this, you are one of them.  _ The shame making him pull his bloody gloves from the mush of Rocket’s bloody back after repairing more of the wiring.  __

_ “This is for your own good, _ ” the raccoonoid grinned, his mind hallucinating. Bucky tried to get free from the table, restraints cutting into his wrists and ankles.  _ No….no!  _

_ “You of all people know there are things worse than death.”  _ Groot’s words roared in his mind.

Bucky sprang backward, slamming into the concrete wincing as the white pain flashed through the back of his head. He looked down, fingers shaking, stained with blood.  _  “You are one of us, soldat.”  _ Bucky closed his eyes, beating back the harrowing memories while he slid down the wall, drawing his knees to his body.  _ They were right, Groot was right. I can’t...I can’t do this.  _ He looked through fevered eyes at where Rocket lay, passive. At his mercy. 

Steve’s words stirred in Bucky’s heart,  _ “we aren’t asking for forgiveness, and I’m way past asking for permission.”  _ The fate of the universe had been at stake then.  _ How is Rocket any different than that? How are any of us? He is Groot’s universe.  _ And he was, inexplicably, part of Bucky’s too. Never worthy of anything, nothing more than a weapon. A means to someone else’s ends. Each of them had believed it. Each of them created because they were meaningless. Having died, having been born a rodent. Bucky drew himself up, trying not to look at his stained gloves.  _ I’ve already asked for forgiveness,  _ but he had yet to give himself permission to do this thing. Hell, Groot hadn’t really permitted it either and if he knew Rocket at all, the raccoonoid probably would’ve refused too.

_ If he makes out of this I’ll argue about it with him later.   _ Bucky tried to make himself imagine it while he got back to work.

_ “We are creating something beautiful here,” the doctor encouraged while Bucky grit his teeth and wept.  _

“I am creating something beautiful here,” Bucky whispered, hovering the scalpel over Rocket again. “I’ll do you better than what they did to us.” His voice hitched at the lump in his throat.  “As much as I can, I promise.” It was a thin promise, one he was pretty sure he couldn’t keep, but between the bouts of flashbacks and the spouting of blood and the fear he swallowed Bucky managed to repair four more cybernetic connectors and sow together a severed tendon. The man swayed on his feet several hours later, wiping sweat from his face, a trail of dark blood streaking down in its wake. 

_ Knock. knock. _ Bucky tore his eyes from the vertebrae he was fixing and looked up through his haze of fatigue. 

“How’s he…?” Steve stopped, taking in the scene before him. 

Bucky could only guess at what he was seeing: The ex-assassin standing in a grim stone lab, tools and gauze, wires from damaged cybernetics hanging out with bloody cables from the back of a small  hapless victim while he, Bucky Barnes, stood over it all, eyes glossy and arms painted in hues of agony. 

“Bucky?” 

Bucky  looked up.  _ Threat. Captain America. Kill. No! Steve….no. Not one of them. No!  _  Bucky let go of the scissors he held, letting them rest against the wall of Rocket’s back. 

“Steve,” he whispered.  _ Take me away from this place.  _

As always, Steve seemed to read his mind. “It’s been over 12 hours Buck, you need to rest.” 

“I….c..can’t...I have to…” Steve laid his hand on top of Bucky’s and closed around it. 

The warmth traveling up his arm to his heart instantly slowed his breath. 

“He’ll be alright for a few hours. Let his body heal on its own for now.” 

Bucky nodded. “I just have to--” but Steve intercepted, slipping on gloves and gently wrapping gauze around the open wound. 

He checked that Rocket’s heart rate and breathing were stable, and gently led Bucky away towards the door. Bucky glanced over his shoulder, seeing himself in that gurney.  _ So many times they left him lying there. Exposed to the elements. Blood running down his back, burning flesh and the ghostly presence of the electric tools still inside of him for the night. Lost and alone in this same place.  _

Steve pushed open the doors and Bucky held his breath as Groot stood up, instantly looming over him with an expectant gaze. 

Exhausted, Bucky  explained, “He’ll live.”

“I am Groot?” He signed something, to quick for Bucky to follow. 

Bucky’s raw fingers ached to answer but thankfully, Steve beat him to it.

“He wants to know if he can see him.” 

“You won’t like it, but you can if you want, just...don’t touch him or anything else in there.”

Groot nodded but did not make to go through the lab doors just yet. 

Steve said something to the flora colossus that Bucky could not hear, and Bucky resigned himself to passively following his boyfriend down to where he’d found an adequate bathroom and sleeping place. 

“Do you want to shower?” Steve wondered, gesturing to the towels he’d found. 

Bucky shook his head, only stripping off his filthy clothes down to the boxers. 

Steve nodded, wrapping an arm around his waist and took him to sit in the small room. Bucky’s knees buckled the moment he got to the uncomfortable bed. He closed his eyes, visions of Rocket lying torn apart etched into his lids.  _ His own mechanical arm, holding Steve and tearing into his own back as he howled in agony. Him leaning over Steve as he struggled in restraints, scissors cutting into his flesh. A grin full of teeth, soldat, soldat, soldat.  _ Bucky put his hands to his head and stopped,  _ dark blood embedded under his nails. Filling in the lines of his skin. The blood of his friend, the blood of the only creature who had gone through something similar to him, arguably because of him.  _

Steve knelt down in front of him, bearing a wet cloth. In the sliver of moonlight from the narrow window, the water gleamed as Steve silently wrung it over Bucky’s hands. Absolved. For a moment. The water dribbled over his flesh, washing away the blood, the guilt, the embarrassment. Steve’s warm hands took his and rubbed them dry, lulling Bucky’s mind into quiet contemplation. 

“I’m one of them,” Bucky  rasped, tears pressing against his eyes. 

Steve shook his head, hands coming up to cradle either side of his face as he moved to sit beside him. “No, you aren’t, Buck.” 

Bucky looked at him, those eyes so blue and so full of promise, of carefully cultivated hope despite all they’d been through. But equally tinged with hurt, with anger. With the messiness of emotions unbecoming of The Captain America. 

“If you were anything like them, you would have let Rocket to die in that lab.” 

Bucky nodded, the doctor’s words about “spare parts,” grating across his brain. 

In the darkness, the outlines of Steve’s body leaned towards him and Bucky sucked in the breath of his kiss. How he longed to drink in all of that which was Steve Rogers. Selfish, maybe. Unwanted, probably not. Bucky kissed him back before drawing away for a moment. 

“I couldn’t fight, Steve, I….I promised I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to kill again.” He looked away, towards the depthless dark of the floor. “I didn’t want to remember how good I was at it. How there’s a part of me…” He shivered despite Steve’s arms winding around him. “...that enjoys it.”

“James, look at me.” Steve’s fingers gently touched his face, turning him to look. “I would have done the same thing. Without a second thought.” He smiled sadly, eyes searching for Bucky to tell the truth. 

Bucky sucked in a deep breath, the smell of his soulmate mixed with the damp of the concrete walls. He felt his spine seem to melt, leaning into Steve and laying his head on his lap, letting his feet tangle off the edge of the utilitarian bed. Steve cradled him, barricading him from the terrors both inside and out. 

“You really are a shield you know,” Bucky smirked, letting his fingers run over Steve’s arms.

Steve laughed against him, and he closed his eyes to savor it. 

“Haha. You’re hysterical, Buck.” 

“I mean it!” 

Steve planted a kiss on his head. “I know.” 

They lay in the dark together, letting the sounds of their silence speaking for them. Bucky breathed to the tune of the dripping pipes and felt Steve’s hold on him, grounding him to whatever sanity he still had. 

“I’m torturing him, Steve….I….I stand there working, and…”

“You went through it yourself, it’s the only reason you are able to save him.”

“No,” Bucky whispered, “it’s not that...I...I  _ enjoy  _ seeing it split open. It’s like it’s every Hydra agent, doctor and scientist who ever hurt me. Like  I’m somehow getting revenge on them by what I’m doing to it.” 

Steve’s arms did not retract their hold, but he looked down at Bucky. “ _ Him _ , Buck,” he reminded gently. “Rocket. What you’re doing to  _ him _ .Which is saving his life.” 

Bucky’s head snapped up, looking at Steve. 

“ I….I forgot.” His voice broke, “Oh god, Steve,” the warmth drained from him. “I forgot,” he let out a choked sob. 

Steve only kissed him again, stroking his cheek. “You remembered, that’s what matters. That is why you aren’t one of them. You never will be. The only person you belong to is yourself.” Steve grinned, eyes like the water under the moon. “...and to me.” 

That infectious love burrowed it’s way into Bucky’s most ineffable fears, by some miracle making him believe the man. 

“That’s right,” he whispered, kissing Steve back. 

Steve pulled him close to his chest and lay down. They held each other close in that night, and for a moment, Bucky forgave himself. For everything.

-

_ Bucky didn’t want him to enter.  _

_ Bucky said he wouldn’t like what he saw. _

_ Bucky said not to touch him. _

_ Bucky said he’d keep him safe.  _

_ “You can hold him and he’ll die in your arms, or you can release him to ours and he might live. Your call.”  _

_ Your call.  _ That was what seperated Bucky from the people who tortured him. Groot pushed open the doors to the lab and saw what it was that Bucky had done. Bloody tools lay on a tray. Each one had been used. Sharp smells of ammonia and anesthesia and rubbing alcohol. Rocket lay on his stomach, strapped into some odd metal contraption. Groot leaned down, looking at his friend’s face. Eyes closed, mouth muzzled with something that kept him so deeply asleep the flora colossus was worried for a moment that he was in fact dead. But no, one careful touch to his side and Groot sighed with relief.  _ Somehow still alive. Like Bucky.  _

Bucky was the only one in this whole galaxy who could truly understand what they had done to Rocket. More so than even Groot himself. The knowledge of it a rot in his proverbial heart. Not jealousy; Groot would never envy another living thing having to go through such harrowing torture. It was something else, a vacant indisputable fact, like the leaves dying in autumn.  

The flora gently undid the straps, holding the gauze that had been carefully placed around Rocket’s back. He lifted the little raccoonoid down as he sat cross legged on the hard floor with nothing to root down into, keeping the gas mask on despite everything within him that screamed to remove it. He held Rocket to him, feeling the soft fur against his wooden arms. He stroked the top of the raccoonoid’s head between the ears in the usual rhythmic motion. If only he could save him the way he’d saved the rest of the rest of the Guardians so long ago. He’d save them all if he could.  _ Steve….Bucky.  _ Groot let out tiny spores, dancing around Rocket’s little form and creating an air of tranquility. 

_ Bucky didn’t want me to hold you. If only he knew, that holding you was all I could do. It was not enough. Not this time.  _ Groot despaired, watching Rocket’s sides move in and out, in and out. Sap stuck to his face from where it leaked from his eyes.

He knew Bucky wanted to do the right thing. Knew that Bucky believed what he was doing was right.  _ The only way, _ and maybe it was, yet Groot held onto the little ball of fur in his embrace and saw there the same thing he saw when he looked at the human with the mechanized arm.  _ Someone who had been burnt and beaten, broken and bereft of anything they had been before. Someone whose eyes held a delicate happiness, trying to conceal their anguish. Someone who used their metal and weapons to keep from breaking down.  _ Groot knew Bucky was smart, but what Bucky didn’t knew was how easily Groot could see through his stoic facade.  _ Past that fragile exterior into the fear they harbor inside. A fear that they will turn and become the things they were meant to be. Terror that they must hold it together lest they snap and hurt the very person dearest to them.  _

It happened with Rocket, once, though Groot’s regenerative abilities easily healed the damage. He suspected it either hadn’t happened with Bucky yet, hence the man’s fear, or it had happened and he or Steve never spoke of it. As far as Groot knew. But Groot didn’t know anything, did he? He was a gentle, simple giant. How could he know the depths of anyone’s soul? 

Some untold time later, Groot forced himself to place the raccoonoid back in the disturbing restraints, cursing himself with every snap and click. 

“I am Groot,”  _ I love you Little Rocket, I will be right outside. I love you.  _ He let himself stroke Rocket’s tail one final time, sap leaking from his eyes before he turned and departed. 

He walked down the hall, _no sunlight in this place of misery. No earth. No..._ he stopped looking into the small bathroom. Clothes, lying in a heap. Groot sniffed, _Blood._ _Rocket’s blood. Metal, chemicals, sweat. Bucky’s distress._ He carefully plucked up the garments and filled the sink with water. Though brown at first it eventually became clear, and Groot worked through each piece. Shirt, pants, jacket, vest, socks, gloves. He rang out the vile odors of butchery, watching the blood and excretions and other forms of bodily fluids run down the fabric, down his own absorbent bark, into the cleansing water and eventually down the drain. 

Groot shook with the smell and the feeling of his own vines taking in those substances, draining them from Bucky’s clothes. But he washed diligently, until each article of clothing was at last clean. Then set them out to dry, unleashing the small yellow spores to create tiny balls of warmth and light. Eventually satisfied, Groot folded them, leaving them outside the closed bedroom door but looked down once more, frowning. 

_ Bucky is from New York….oak trees in the park,  _ he recalled from the time Star Lord made them visit. Nodding, Groot grew several oak branches from his arm, letting the garments rest there until they smelled of sweet earthy oak. He set the clothes down once more by the door  and resumed his post outside the doors of the lab. He sat down against the wall, knowing that if he entered again he would not leave. 


	3. Chapter 3

It was not hard to rise out of the rough bed the next morning. Steve was already up when Bucky opened his eyes, sitting up and stretching out the kinks in his back from the tough metal springs.

“I found coffee,” Steve appeared in the doorway, already fully dressed to Bucky’s dismay, but the coffee was good as any consolation. 

He accepted, standing up and taking the military issued metal mug from Steve’s smooth hands. “This tastes like shit.” 

“It’s been down here for who knows how long.” Steve laughed, beaming smile on his face as he finished the rest of his. Golden light through the small window illuminating his already radiant hair. 

Bucky smoothed it gently and forced himself to drink the rest of the tar tasting liquid.

“Will you be okay? To work on him?” 

Bucky nodded.

“You know if you need me to take over, just let me know.”

Bucky smiled but shook his head. “No I….I started this, I have to finish it.” 

With that, he kissed Steve’s cheek and opened the door, staring down at the folded, cleaned clothes on the ground. “Did you wash these last night?” 

Steve came up behind him. “Nope.” 

Bucky shrugged, picking them up and changing, and started down the hall to the lab. 

Groot sat outside, roots growing outward from his body to secure him to the wall as he slept. Bucky tip toed over the long legs, edging the doors of the lab open.

_ Just a few more days. The hardest part is over. You can take breaks.  _ Reassuring himself with whatever wanton logic he could fathom was another area of expertise for Bucky.  _ Just one more test for today, then you can sleep. Just three more drills, then they’ll cut.  _ He distracted himself, making his way over to where Rocket, as immobile as ever lay strapped in the gurney. 

“I’m sorry Rocket, just a few more days. Just hang in there a little longer.” he whispered and despite his better judgement Bucky reached out his fingers brushing one soft ear, half-expecting the raccoonoid to leap up and attack him.  _ Almost wish he would, _ he thought stroking the soft ear. He allowed a small tenderness to fill his heart.  _ They were all soft underneath weren’t they? Despite it all.  _

“Now I know why Groot likes to pet you so often,” he mused, the warm fur running smoothly under his hand. A tranquility slowly wrapped around him as he continued to pet the soft fur.

“I wanted to go to war, you know?” Bucky found himself saying. “Wanted to help in any way I could. Thought I was invincible. Like I could single-handedly save everything that was good in this world.” He smoothed Rocket’s fur. “Didn’t realize how wrong I was until I got to this place.”

He moved his hand in tune with the raccoonoid’s breathing, the mask of the muzzle fogging up and releasing. He let himself enjoy this odd serenity a moment longer, finally letting his hand slip into his glove, the velvet texture still a presence on his hand. It vanished the moment he unwound the wrapping, smell of meat and metallic fluids and sourness. Bucky covered his nose and mouth, reaching for the water to clean out the wound. Once done he took up the pinchers once more, searching for more cybernetic wires needing repair and connected them each with dexterity. 

_ What if I save him but he...isn’t the same?  _

The words of caution from the hydra scientists flooded his ears:  _ He must remain  himself insofar that he is human, but not too human.. Capable of having emotions that support killing. Destroy all notions or impulses related to compassion or sensitivity.  _

Little did they know, Bucky mulled over as he worked, that out of all the torture hydra put him through, out of all they sought to do to him to establish their control, it was that very area that came the closest to being irreversible. Only Steve has been able to stir up his old self from where it has retreated so deep into his mind even he could not find it. 

Bucky squinted as he attempted to reconnect another set of cables, these even thinner and coming down from Rocket’s brainstem.  _  If he wakes but he isn’t sentient...if I just reverted him back to a normal raccoon...  _ He’d never be able to face Groot again. He finished connecting the two and moved on to another set right underneath it, holding back the tight muscular tissue with clamps.  _ And if it’s the opposite? If I snipped whatever it was preventing him from turning into the little monster they wanted?  _ He tried to bury the thought under a mound of diligent work,  _ keep focused. Worry about it later.  _ Bucky worked his way up the spinal column, fixing and connecting, trimming and knotting and folding where he could, the voices of the Hydra scientists guiding him along the way. 

It took five days and immeasurable hours. Bucky waned between embracing the demons that whispered to him and blocking them out as best as he could manage. Each day, Steve would come in with offers of reprieve, but never lingered long, knowing Bucky did not wish him to see. On the times Steve did linger long enough to drag Bucky from his surgery, he gave into a break and the two of them would leave the lab to find Groot sitting guard outside. 

The flora too, bore the mark of the long hours. Bucky noticed the bark of his wood flaking, growing pale. The leaves and vines, usually a lucious green were dull and brown, and by the third day, they were gone all together. On the fourth day, Bucky finished closing Rocket up for the night, gave him a small stroke on the head and left the operating room to find Groot sitting as usual, only this time with fungus beginning to grow from his head and torso. 

“Groot,” Steve began, looking up with worry at the flora colossus. 

“I’m going to be done tomorrow,” Bucky judged. “When I’m done on his back I’ll wind him down from the anesthetic, just a little. You can go in then.”

“I’ll stand watch,” Steve offered. “But you have to go outside and get some sun.” The man had taken a hobby to researching everything he could about Groot’s rare species after the war. Bucky always knew Steve had compulsive tendencies and enjoyed learning about things. He wouldn’t be surprised if the man knew more about flora colossus then Groot did. “I’ll stand right here, and alert you if anything happens.” 

“I know you were the one who kept him safe through all that’s happened to the two of you,” Bucky tried. “But, you’re not alone anymore. You’re not the only one who cares about Rocket. You don’t have to bear that burden alone.”

“I am Groot!”  _ It’s not a burden! No more than Steve looking after you. Would he see that as a hardship?  _ Groot shook his head, looking at the lab doors. 

Bucky sighed. “Fine. With any luck you will be able to see him tomorrow.” 

In answer, Groot only scowled incredulously and sunk down to the floor again. The next morning, however, Bucky noticed his clothing had been washed of gore again, and smelled of the trees that reminded him so much of Central Park. 

On the last day, Bucky let Steve help him. He did not have enough hands to keep the fragile skin open while he repaired the cybernetics closest to Rocket’s brainstem. 

“You’re a natural at this,” Steve observed watching as Bucky tried to hold a string-thin wire still. 

“Yeah,” he quipped, “that’s why I hate it.” 

“You could be a doctor,” he offered. “You could help people, Buck.” 

Bucky cursed as the wire fell into the mess of blood and liquid below. “I don’t know, Steve, I,” he stopped, frowning. 

“What is it?” 

“I don’t know.” Bucky peeled back a thin viscous layer of soft tissue. He carefully reached for the scalpel and touched it gently.  _ Metal. Raised….  _ He motioned for Steve to pull back harder, revealing a circular piece. PROPERTY OF H.Y.D.R.A BIOWEAPONRY DIVISION 89P13

Bucky drew his lips tight, brow creasing. “ _ Forget everything you knew soldat, you belong to us now.” Steaming flesh, smoke, white hot burning, searing skin. Bubbled blisters. The branding: H.Y.D.R.A  _

“Buck,” Steve called him back from the nightmare. “You alright?” 

Bucky looked up at him. “No, this is coming out.” 

“It’s close to his brainstem Buck, if something got caught or nicked--”

“I’d rather die my own person than live as someone's property, Steve!” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. 

For a moment Steve’s face went hard, then softened, as if deciding something for himself. What it was, Bucky would ask later. “Alright. Then let’s do it.” 

Bucky reached for the small drill, heeding his aim. It hit true, loosening the circular bolt. Ever so carefully he pushed and prodded the thing, trying to ignore the phantom pain at the base of his own neck.  

“There!” Steve exclaimed and Bucky let himself breathe again, dropping the bolt into a bowl.

Bucky smiled, surveying internal structures of Rocket’s back. Panel gone, brand gone, all wires and cables either connected, repaired or for some of them, removed. He checked once, twice, three, four times before Steve persuaded him to step away. 

“Trust yourself,” he pointed out, knowing how hard that was. 

_ If I don’t close it up now I never will. I’ll just do more harm than good,  _ he finally decided, and prompted Steve as they closed the wound, taking every care to minimize the potential for scarring.  _ We both have more than enough of those to spare.  _

“Ready?” Steve asked, as Bucky carefully began to measure down the anesthetic. 

_ Not enough to fully wake him yet.  _ He knew firsthand what it meant to wake to early from the procedures and while he was pretty sure Rocket did too, there was no reason to make it happen again. 

He turned to Steve. “You can go. I’ll meet you soon. I want to be here in case, in case anything happens.” 

Steve looked troubled for a moment, but eventually gave in. With a kiss he took his leave and left Bucky standing alone in the lab. The man stood over the patient for a while, cleaning the dried blood around the stitches and suddenly something moved. He reached for the knife at his leg.

_ Hydra operatives? Should’ve known they’d find us by now! Prepare, get to Steve, watch your six, watch.. _

“Mmmm,....G….Groo…?” Rocket moaned listlessly, tail flicking back and forth once before resting again. 

“Rocket?” Bucky glanced at the anesthetic.  _ I checked! I made sure it was enough!  _ But several breaths more and the raccoonoid didn’t appear to fully awaken. Bucky carefully watched him over his shoulder as he moved to the doors. 

“He’s asking for you.” He motioned for the flora to enter. 

Groot approached, taking Rocket’s tiny paw in his large hand. Little claws tightened around one long wooden finger and Bucky felt his heart expand.  _ Adorable enough to make Steve squeal, _ Bucky imagined, laughing to himself. 

“He’ll be alright,” he whispered. “You can stay with him tonight,” Bucky explained. “Wake me if anything happens.” 

The flora nodded, but only looked at Rocket’s muzzled face. For his part Bucky gratefully left, his body and mind and heart waiting for the welcome of Steve’s embrace. 

The next morning, after Groot willingly left the lab, Bucky rotated Rocket over onto his back, the gurney conveniently shaped to expose his back underneath while supporting from the shoulders and hips so that it did not have to bear any weight. 

The raccoonoid’s head lolled as he moved, and Bucky jumped at the sight of the muzzle.  _ That terror, anguish, humiliation, I did this…. _ He trained his eyes downward at  the right side of Rocket’s stitches under his clavicle.  _ I had to, he couldn’t be awake for this. No one should be. Agony...dizziness, seeing his own ruined stub of a shoulder open, raw. A socket with the ball missing. _

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed, revealing the totality of Rocket’s right shoulder.  _ Raccoons don’t have shoulders….they broke his bones, to reposition them.  _ The two bolts having served to keep his chest expanded, permanently, giving him a more bipedal stance. 

Bucky grimaced at the sagging bone.  _ Without the bolts, _ Bucky mulled it over morbidly.  _ His shoulders will sink, collapsing into his chest. It’ll press on his heart and lungs. _ The voices of the doctors echoed, counseling him. If he was going to have to listen to them, he was going to keep the new hardware internal and not metal.  _ Too heavy, biting, no relief,  _ the long rod that had connected his metal arm into the socket pulsed with irritation. Instead he found a durable plastic, used for prosthetics and inserted it just below the collar Bucky repaired the torn blood vessels and stabilized the broken bone. Bucky repeated the process on the left side the next day, this one easier. 

“Alright,” he cinched the last thread of stitching. “You’re done, we’re done.” 

He took off his gloves finally, cursing at the blood that stained them and gently removed the anesthetic mask. Rocket’s jaws jung open, pointed white teeth sharp. Bucky waited, watching the little black nostrils expanding and huffing for breath.

“I’ll go get Groot,” he whispered and stood, making for the door and feeling a great weight lift from his….stinging claws ripped into the clothes on his back, tearing furiously, a wily hiss making him panic, reaching up to try and pry the snarling biting creature off of him.

“Rocket! Rocket!” 

The ringed tail hit against him, batting his face, and Bucky cringed at the claws that drove into his skin. Rivulets of blood dripped down his back. 

“Rocket!” He grabbed fistfulls of fur in his hands and pulled, yanking his own flesh as he did so. “Rocket, easy!” 

The racconnoid writhed, teeth biting at Bucky’s arms as he tried to force Rocket off of him. With a final rip and skin splitting pain Bucky wrenched him off, holding him at arms length. The wild dark eyes fierce and foreign. The man’s heart skipped a beat,  _ I failed...he’s...he’s just an animal.  _ Rocket’s claws dug into his arms drawing more blood as he squirmed from Bucky’s hold. 

“Groot! Get in here!” 

Within moments, the flora colossus barged in, large eyes taking in the scene. For a moment he looked at Bucky, crushed. The pain of Rocket’s teeth dulled in comparison. 

“I’m...I’m so sorry, I…” 

Vines lashed out and the man made to throw himself to the ground out of their way, but stumbled back. The vines lifted Rocket from his hold and grew around the animal’s torso, binding his tail, legs and arms. The raccoonoid screeched as Bucky lunged for the vials on the counter. 

“Hold him down!” he shouted. 

Groot pressed Rocket to the ground, tears of sap ebbing from his eyes. “I...I am Groot,” he pleaded with the crazed creature. 

“What’s going on?!” Steve demanded. 

Bucky bit the cover of the syringe off with his teeth. “Sorry Rocket,” he growled, jamming the needle into his furry arm. He panted, rolling backward on the ground, staring at Rocket, whose movements eventually became lethargic and he slipped into subdusion again. 

“I am Groot?”  _ What did you do?!  _

Steve helped Bucky to his feet as the man examined his scratches.

“Let’s get him somewhere more comfortable.” Steve immediately began to try and solve the problem. 

Bucky agreed, walking hurriedly through the hall down to the bed he and Steve had been utilizing, the only one in the place. 

Groot laid Rocket down. “I am Groot?”

“Now we wait,” Bucky sighed, going over and leaning against the far wall. Steve pulled him into a hug and he rested his head on his shoulder, letting Steve hold him and descended into a peaceful darkness.

“Wh….what...the...” 

Hours later, Bucky rose at the sound of a weak rasping voice. 

“What the fuck...h….OW! GROOT!” 

The man smiled, watching Groot throw his arms around the little raccoonoid, picking him up off the bed and holding him tight to his chest. 

Bucky rushed over to the two of them. “Careful of his stitches!” 

Rocket cocked his head in confusion, surly but made no attempt to get free of Groot’s hold. “What stitches? Barnes, what the flark happened?” 

“It’s a long story,” Bucky admitted, grinning like an idiot.

“My back hurts,” Rocket whined. 

“I am Groot,” Groot explained gently, nuzzling Rocket who endured the affection with the least resistance Bucky had ever witnessed. He held his breath at Groot’s words, but the raccoonoid only shrugged at whatever the flora colossus had said. 

“I’ll give you two some privacy,” Steve smiled, ushering Bucky out of the room before his guilt could spill every detail of what had happened. 

“You did it, Buck,” Steve exclaimed once they shut the door.

A small flickering pride was bubbling in his chest. “I just wish it didn’t have to be like this,” he put in.

Steve wound his arms around his waist, pulling him in close. “I’m glad it was.”

“Why?”

Steve reached up, moving Bucky’s hair out of his eyes with such reverence Bucky could have wept. “You never would have reconciled with yourself  if it hadn’t.” 

Bucky smiled wryly. “Reconciled? I wouldn’t go that far.” 

Steve shrugged, swaying playfully. “You used what was done to you to save a life, you should be proud of yourself.” Steve beamed, wetness coming to his eyes. 

“That’s all I’ll ever need.” Bucky kissed him deliciously. 

Bucky forced himself to return to the room sometime later. Though he paused in the doorway. Rocket sat in the bed, Groot beside him, one large hand in the raccoonoid’s lap. Rocket thoughtfully traced the cracks of the bark of Groot’s hand. Lush vines adorned with pink flowers bolstered Rocket up from the pillow and Bucky muffled a laugh; he’d never seen such quiet tenderness from the raccoonoid. 

The flora looked up, smiling at Bucky for the first time in a long time. Bucky nodded to him as he stood.

“I am Groot.” The tree creature declined to sign whatever it was he’d said but only left the room without explanation, leaving Bucky facing Rocket who had instantly replaced his gentle face with a jaded frown. 

“How you feeling?” The man came and sat on the edge of the bed.

Rocket turned away, tail flicking, ears lowered. He drew a deep breath but did not meet Bucky’s eyes. “Like shit.” 

“At least you're alive, right?” Bucky forced himself to ask. 

To his relief, the raccoonoid nodded.

“Get some rest, we’ll head home tomorrow if you’re up for it.” He raised an arm to pet the raccoonoid’s head, but stopped himself and made to leave.

“Bucky?” 

He halted. “Yeah?” 

“Groot told me I passed out for a few days after….after the hydra agent.” 

Bucky nodded, but did not turn to face him. 

“That ain’t exactly true, is it?”

“No,” he whispered, “it’s not.” Silence hung between them, and Bucky opened the door a crack.

“Thanks,” Rocket’s small voice wavered and he did not need to see the tears to know they were there. 

He sniffed at the same liquid beginning to leak from his eyes. “Of course. Now get some rest,” he whispered softly, and left the raccoonoid to sleep.

-

“Barnes!” Rocket’s harsh tone traveled across their apartment several days later. 

Bucky cursed, getting up from where he and Steve cuddled on their bed and went to the door. Something soft grazed his foot. Bucky looked down. A beautiful ornate flower crown lay outside, made of oak leaves and acorns interspersed with simple white flowers like baby’s breath.  _ It was Groot,  _ Bucky realized. He smiled, a tear of gratitude coming to his eyes as he picked it up.

“BARNES!” 

Bucky cursed again, setting the crown down on his dresser and following Rocket’s demanding voice. “What?”

“You want to tell me why I don’t got no metal in my back or shoulders anymore?” Rocket stood before the mirror on the bathroom door, dressed in black pants. 

Bucky looked him over, quite impressed with his own work. The flesh was healing nicely, and fur had already begun to grow over the spot where the shoulder implants had been. 

“I know you and Groot are in a platonic life partnership,” Bucky began, “but if you ever wanted to branch out I figured I’d spare you the awkward first date conversation and get that metal out of your skin.” 

Rocket considered for a moment. “First off, Groot and I aren’t in ‘a life’ anything! I told yah, I keep him around cuz he’s useful in a fight.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Right, that’s why his name was the first thing you said after you nearly died.”

“EXACTLY! Now….wait what’s platonic mean?” 

Bucky smiled. “Oh ask Steve, he’ll be happy to answer all your relationship questions.”

Rocket just blinked at him. “And as for branching out, romance, all that, just ain’t my thing.”

Bucky raised a brow, glad to steer the conversation somewhere away from the procedure. “No?”

Rocket shook his head. “It’s fine for you and Steve, but that stuff ain’t for me. Never has been.”

Bucky nodded. “Well, I thought you’d be better off without all that metal getting infected.”

Rocket nodded, looking at himself in the mirror. He raised a claw to where the bolts on his collarbone had been, and Bucky watched for a split second as a heartfelt smile broke the raccoonoid’s face.  _ Self worth, love.  _ In that moment, that look on Rocket’s face made it all worth it. 

_ I did this,  _ Bucky thought, and for once it was in admiration.

“Besides,” Bucky joked, “I don’t like seeing any creatures in pain. I only use shampoo that’s cruelty free. That’s why my hair so luscious and shiny.” He tossed his hair over his shoulder with bravado. 

Rocket pulled a shirt over himself, glaring at Bucky with impatience. “1-800 why the flark should I care?” He shook his head in indignation and pushed past Bucky, who only watched him stalk off.  __

_ Same old Rocket after all,  _ he jested to himself.  _ Steve was right, as always. “You should be proud of yourself,”  _ a new voice sounded in his heart, this one welcome. 

“I am.” Bucky whispered, his heart unfolding just a little, his own wounds a little more healed.

 

**_The End_ **


End file.
